Dirty Laundry
by keelhaulrose
Summary: Alone and suffering in the forest on Christmas, Harry and Hermione steal a moment just for themselves.


**A/N: So, I mentioned this happening in Awake, and several people asked for the story. I promised I would write it, wrote half, and sort of forgot about it. Then, because I have insomnia, I was reading over Awake trying to remember my story, saw this, and said 'I need to finish!'**

**So, this is my take on what happened between Harry and Hermione. It is as canon as I can make it. There's no lasting romance or anything like that. It's not going to be more than a one-shot. It's just a little story that came to me while writing a different story.**

**Rated M for an adult situation (I love euphemisms, but I'll put it bluntly, they have sex). H/Hr not your thing? You might want to try a different fic.**

**Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!**

* * *

Harry Potter had always known Hermione Granger was a girl, thank you very much.

She was a girl, but she had always been that girl who was one of the guys. That girl you couldn't look at as 'girl' but rather a good, _completely_ untouchable friend. Her status as something that could never be looked at sexually to him was cemented when it became obvious that Ron was attracted to her.

That's why the sudden slap across his face that Hermione was a woman and not just a anatomically incorrect person standing next to him had caught him so off guard.

It came in the form of dirty laundry. Hermione usually was the one who relented, who gave up an trying to pretend the stench of stale body odor was not seeping from he hamper of dirty clothes, and took the offending garments to the closest body of water for a good scrub (she could cast a cleaning spell, but by that time she needed a little alone time). As she came back clean herself, Harry could easily deduce that she realized some of the clothes had come from her back, and she had bathed in the privacy of wherever she had taken the usually massive pile of laundry to.

But, in one of her patented 'I'm-sick-of-being-the-one-who-has-to-do-everything' moments, she announced, just days after Ron left, that she was not doing the next load, and that Harry could get off his lazy arse and put soap to fabric himself for a change. And Harry, in one of his patented 'Hermione-will-do-it-eventually' moments, let the pile grow and grow until he realized he had been wearing the same boxers for five days and he was running the risk of chafing.

He waited until Hermione was taking a nap, to avoid her smug smile, gathered both their clothes from around the tent, and headed towards the nearby stream. He had done laundry plenty of times at the Dursley's, and thought he would give anything to be back at their pristine washing machine again as he sunk to his knees in front of the freezing cold water. He almost lost the first shirt he put in, the current was swift, probably the only reason the water hadn't iced over. If only he had paid attention to the part of Charms class that covered warming spells...

After washing about half the garments, casting drying spells on them, folding them neatly and placing them into a clean bag, he reached in for the next item. And came up with something small, too small, it seemed, to belong in the laundry. He pulled it out to get a good look at it. He felt his face growing warm as he realized he just came across the first pair of Hermione's underwear since he had started, and they were not the white cotton knickers he had thought. Black, silken, with a little sparkling heart, he realized he was holding Hermione Granger's thong in his hand.

He couldn't help but stare at it. Girls didn't wear underwear like this, not unless they had been physical with someone, or were planning to in the foreseeable future. Why would Hermione have these? Surely she and Ron...

Well, he couldn't be completely sure that she and Ron hadn't done something. Maybe that's why she was so affected by him leaving. Yes, he knew she had feelings for the youngest Weasley boy, but had they taken it that far yet?

Realizing he had stared at Hermione's knickers far longer than he should have, he quickly gave them a wash, dried them, and plunged them as far as possible into the bag. He reached into the hamper for the next dirty item, and came up with a black, lacy bra.

"Come on!" he groaned. Here he was, in the middle of the woods, only able to get a physical relief during the short spurts of alone time, with the one girl he wasn't supposed to think of in a sexual way. And in his hand- a reminder that she had breasts, which must be at least occasionally covered by a very sexy bra that he would now have to keep out of his mind every time his eyes wandered below her neckline.

Vowing to dig through Hermione's pile of books to find a cleaning spell that would get the laundry done quickly, Harry quickly finished the pile without looking in fear of finding another of Hermione's private items. He packed everything up and carried it back to the tent.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked, looking up from the Tales of Beetle the Bard.

"Laundry," he announced with a proud smirk, holding up the bag of clean clothes.

"Oh," she muttered, turning slightly pink. "Did you, um, do all of it?"

"That's kind of the point of doing the laundry. Here," he added, tossing the bag to her. "Your stuff is mostly on top."

"Thanks," she muttered, face glowing red.

She avoided his gaze the rest of the day, as she had been doing a lot recently, though this time she was going out of her way to keep from being in his eyesight. The first time she talked to him after was as she was laying out a pot of watery soup for dinner.

"Come get it," she muttered.

More to get something warm in him than to eat the soup which probably had no substance to it, he joined her at the small table. She had spooned soup out for herself, and sat behind a massive book so only the top of her bushy brown hair was visible.

"Have I done something wrong?" he asked, to break the silence.

"What? Oh, no, Harry, it's just that, well, I'm sure you saw... I should have done the laundry. I know I should have."

"You told me it was my turn!"

"But I never expected you to actually do it!" she shot back, lowering the book.

"If this is about your knickers, I swear I didn't look," _at any past the first one, which I stared at like it was a lifeline, _his brain added.

"Oh," she turned even redder. "Well, thank you for doing the laundry." She raised the book back up.

After dinner he felt tired. It was Hermione's turn to guard, and she took up her post by the opening of the tent, the Horcrux shining in the moonlight around her neck. He changed into his pajamas, climbed into his bed, and tried to think of anything but Hermione in the thong and bra. It wasn't easy, but eventually he drifted off to sleep, avoiding the erection that was screaming for his attention.

* * *

_A few weeks later_

He had just about enough of the whole damn hunt for Horcruxes. First he lost Hedwig, then Ron, now his wand. Nothing was the way it should be. If he was fighting on the side of good, shouldn't someone out there be trying to help him?

But there was someone trying to help him. She had been there all along, since the hunt for the stone in their first year, only one person's friendship never wavered, never grew cold. She had sent her parents away to support him, and she had just as much as him to lose.

_No!_ his brain ordered. _You can't think of Hermione that way. Think of Ginny!_

But it wasn't Ginny constantly by his side, walking around, reading books, and, despite her depression, making sure he was decently being cared for. And it wasn't Ginny he could look over and picture in skimpy undergarments on those cold, lonely nights.

He sighed. It was Christmas, but it felt like someone had Avada'ed Santa right in front of him. Hermione had tried to make it a decent holiday, made him a nice meal, volunteered to wear the Horcrux and stand guard. He needed sleep, he was still in pain from the day before, so he laid in his bed, and ignoring the erection that had become part of his nighttime routine, fell asleep.

Minutes, maybe hours, later he was woken up by the feeling of someone climbing on top of him. Groping for his wand (quite stupidly, since it wasn't there), he felt panic as whatever it was lowered it's face to his. But no words of death or torture came, instead whoever it was pressed their lips to his urgently, moving their body sinuously atop his, making his erection flare painfully.

_It's a dream_, he told himself. _And a damn good one._ Without thinking he wrapped his arms around the figure, holding their slim body to his as his tongue demanded, and was granted, access into their mouth. His eyes remained shut as their mouths worked hungrily against each other. His hands explored the body atop his, moving up from her slim waist, over her breasts, one tangling itself into her hair, voluminous and bushy...

"Hermione!" he pulled back with a start, looking in shock up at her.

"What, Harry, aren't interested in making this a _very_ happy Christmas?" she gave a sultry smirk, eyes locked onto his. There was something in the chocolate brown of those eyes, something very much not Hermione. But his body was screaming to keep going, begging for the release he had been denying it so long. Unable to stop them, his green eyes wandered down to her neck, and with a shock he realized what was making Hermione act so unlike herself.

"The Horcrux," he whispered, looking at it.

"What about it?" she hissed, nibbling his earlobe.

"Stop," he said, pushing her away. "It's making you not right. It's making you do this."

"No, it's not," she laughed.

"Take it off, then."

Rolling her eyes she sat up and obeyed. She yanked the chain from around her neck, and threw the locket as far across the tent as she could. It landed on the table with a loud 'thud' and remained still.

Hermione looked back down at him, but it was like watching her come out of a trance.

"Harry!" she whispered, looking horror-struck. She scrambled off him and sat on the bed next to him. "I'm so sorry! I should have known. That locket, it changes us. It makes Ron moody, you depressed..."

"And you completely randy?" He knew what she said was true, but it was somewhat out of line of his theory. The locket made Ron moody, of course, but Ron was always a little moody. It made him depressed and ill-tempered, but he had always been that way (at least a little bit). And it made Hermione bossier and short with them, but that wasn't out of the norm for her, either. The locket amplified feelings they already had, feelings that could cause discord between them, but he had never expected it to cause Hermione to climb on top of him.

She blushed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me. You must think I'm awful."

"I don't!" he said, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her. Damn, she smelled good. It was hard to hold a woman he had been fantasizing about for weeks in his arms and not do something, especially when he could practically smell her arousal. "Honestly, Hermione. It's not like either one of us hasn't had something we've wanted to get out of our systems."

"You're going to have to forgive me, then," she whispered.

"For what?" he looked confused.

"This," she said, and without warning her lips were back on his. Knowing it was a losing battle, and not caring, he pushed her back onto the bed, lips never straying from hers and they resumed their passionate kissing. Her hands clawed at his shirt, pulling it up, and he broke their embrace long enough to let her pull it over his head. Acting almost instinctively his hand found the buttons on her shirt, and he quickly managed to unfasten them all and push the fabric to the side. He dared to stop kissing her long enough to look at his reward for doing so, and he breathed in sharply. She was wearing the same black bra that tormented him all those nights.

She lifted herself up to pull the blouse off, and he reached around to unfasten the bra. He pulled it off her as he pushed her back onto the bed, lips attacking the skin of her neck and chest as she gasped in delight. A shaking hand came to rest on her breast, and he lightly rolled her nipple between two of his fingers, causing her to moan. Loving the sound he continued, lowering his head to her other breast and flicking his tongue across that peak. Another moan, and her back arched into him, forcing the peak into his mouth, which began to lightly suck on it as if he had done this before and knew exactly what he was doing.

She was squirming now, as if she were trying to writhe out of her pants and seek the release he was teasing her with. His hand left her breast and slowly, teasingly, undid the fly of her jeans. She lifted her hips for him, and he pulled the fabric quickly off her, and groaned himself. She had completed the outfit of his dreams with the little thong. Unable to keep his painful erection at bay any longer he ripped the fabric from her, wiggled out of his own pants, and positioned himself between her legs.

"Please, Harry!" she cried, slick folds moving against his cock, trying to force him inside her.

"Have you ever...?" he looked down into her eyes.

She shook her head. "You?"

He replied with a shake, but at this point he didn't care that he was stealing Hermione's virginity, or losing his own. He had to be inside her. Using his hand he positioned himself at her entrance and slowly pushed his way in. He felt her resistance against him as he pushed, and she let out a little cry as it broke.

"Are you okay?" he asked in concern at the look of pain on her face.

"Give me a moment," she nodded, taking a deep breath, and her eyes stayed closed as she got used to the feeling of someone stretching her inside. Finally she looked up at him and nodded, and he slowly pulled himself out of her, then pushed back in. She groaned again, but the pain was gone from her eyes. He kept moving slowly, afraid of hurting her, but also afraid of losing himself too quickly. If they were going to forget Ron and Ginny existed, he best do it properly.

The pain was gone from her face, she was smiling slightly, eyes staring directly into his.

"More, Harry," she commanded.

He was happy to oblige. He moved quickly, deeper, until he was completely buried within her before pulling almost all the way out, and thrusting back inside. She was warm and slick wrapped around him, and he crashed his lips back to hers to keep from coming too quickly.

Her fingers tightened on his back, and he groaned into her mouth. Her hips bucked up to meet his, and her legs wrapped around his waist.

"Oh, Merlin," he groaned as the new angle allowed him to move further inside her. She bit her lip as her head rolled back.

"Harry, please!" she shouted. "I'm close..."

He shifted his weight to one arm, and moved his fingers to touch her clit. The slightest touch pushed her over the edge, she groaned loudly as she clamped around him, her breath catching, her nails digging into his flesh until she exploded, quivering as the pleasure washed over her.

His hand went back to the bed as his own body tightened. "Hermione," he whispered as he spilled himself into her, breath coming raggedly as the release he denied himself for so long swept through him in rolling waves. With one last kiss he collapsed next to her, not bothering to move his arm that lay across her chest as he tried to regain normal breathing.

"Am I forgiven?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

"Completely," he smiled.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Happy Christmas," he smiled back.

She slipped out from under his arm, wrapped a blanket around herself, gathered her clothes and walked out of sight. He took his time pulling on his own clothes, his brain replaying every part of what just happened, lingering on the parts where she had uttered his name. Too soon, however, he was dressed, and couldn't think of anything else to do but lay down. He saw her shadow cross the tent, pause to put the Horcrux back on, and resume her post by the tent flap. Smiling, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke the next morning she had breakfast ready.

"Good morning," she smiled as she placed a plate of food in front of him.

"Morning, 'Mione," he smiled back. He waited for her to say something, anything, about what had happened between them, but when she spoke it wasn't about the night before.

"Think we should move today?"

"Yeah, probably," he nodded, shoveling food into his mouth.

After breakfast they packed everything carefully. She took down the protective spells, and Apparated them to the Forest of Dean, leaving their night together behind.


End file.
